


we'll get by

by swwf17



Series: We Should Come with a Warning [4]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Family Feels, Gen, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 07:44:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11054463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swwf17/pseuds/swwf17
Summary: Specificity is the soul of all good communication. Also, t-shirts.





	we'll get by

D A N V E R S

Alex writes the letters out slowly, in clear, bold capitals.

Kara watches with rapt attention, eyes following the movement of the pen, the flow of the ink over the ballpoint.

“Danvers,” Alex tells her, pointing at the word, and spells it out loud.

Kara nods. Alex has no way of knowing if Kara really understands, though. She tries something else.

A L E X

Again, she writes it out slowly, making sure that Kara is following along.

Kara’s eyes never leave the page. She’s staring so intently, Alex worries she’ll burn a hole right through the page. (That, as it turns out, is a very legitimate concern.)

“Alex,” she says. And Kara smiles.

She points to Alex, and Alex nods, glad that the alien has managed to pick up _something_ from the last few days, at least.

She starts writing again.

K A R A

That’s how Clark said it would be spelled, here on Earth. With a K, and pronounced with a short ‘a’ sound.

Kara looks at the word, then looks back at Alex expectantly. _What is it. What does it spell._

“Kara,” Alex tells her, and points.

Except, it must not be clear. Kara doesn’t see her pointing to the word, and instead interprets this as some sort of ‘your turn’ invitation. Kara picks up one of the pens that’s sticking out of Alex’s pencil case, and, with a somewhat unsure hand, writes something in a script that Alex doesn’t recognize.

Kryptonese.

The letters (symbols?) are blocky. Geometric. Diamonds and squares and patterns that remind Alex of barcodes–shapes that don’t mean much to her, just as the collection of lines that make up DANVERS, ALEX, and KARA probably doesn’t mean much to the alien seated beside her.

“Kara,” Kara tells her, pointing to the word. When Kara says it, there’s a…a faint, breathier quality to the name. Alex can’t really pinpoint what kind of sound it is, exactly, and is pretty sure she won’t be able to replicate it.

“That’s…cool,” Alex doesn’t know what else to say. Kara continues to write, and Alex notes that the letters are wobbly, almost like she’s out of practice.

Did they not write much, on Krypton?

(Alex feels like it might be rude to ask.)

“That's—” Alex is about to say 'cool’ again, because why waste fourteen dollar words on someone who can’t yet appreciate them, but she pauses. One of the symbols looks familiar.

At the very end, in careful miniature, is the ’S’ Superman wears on his chest.

Alex points to it, curious. “What’s that say?” she asks, and hopes that Kara will understand it’s a question.

“ _Zor-El,”_ Kara tells her.

And that…doesn’t really clear up any sort of confusion. She’s never heard that…term? Name? before, and Clark didn’t mention anything like it.

It does, though, sound more stereotypically 'alien’ than something like 'Kara,’ so Alex wonders if it’s a word for something.

“Zorel,” Alex repeats. Kara tries very hard to hide her wince. “Okay, okay, I get it.” Alex rolls her eyes. “Geez. Tell me how you really feel.”

Kara stares at her blankly.

Alex decides to just move on—again, why waste words on the kid from another planet—and points from Kara’s first word, the one she _knows_ to be 'Kara’, to the letters on her page.

“Kara,” she says, poking the word with the tip of her pen, “Kara,” she repeats, moving the pen back and forth between the two.

Kara stares for a moment longer, and then nods vigorously.

“Kara,” she mimics Alex, even going so far as to flatten out the vowel sounds, just as Alex (admittedly, unintentionally) had.

Satisfied with this progress, Alex decides to move on to the last step: putting it all together.

“Danvers,” Alex adds, writing out the entire thing.

**K A R A  D A N V E R S**

“Kara Danvers.”

Kara stares at that one for a very long time.

So long, in fact, that Alex begins to worry that she’s done something wrong. That Kara’s alien brain has short circuited, or something.

And there’s a brief flash of something like pain that passes over Kara’s face, and she rubs at her collarbone.

But then it’s gone, just like that. She takes a deep breath, and smiles at Alex.

“Kara Danvers,” she says, without even the slightest trace of an accent.

* * *

Alex doesn’t think about the alien letters or Kara’s odd behavior until several days later, when she’s on her knees, rummaging through the closet, trying to find the box of clothes she was going to donate to Goodwill.

Kara stands behind her, somewhat awkwardly tugging at the sleeve of a sweatshirt that’s just a bit too big for her.

(The call from Clark, and subsequent adolescent alien acquisition, had been sudden. The Danvers had little time to prepare for their small refugee, and as such, Kara had been wearing the same set of hand-me-downs that Eliza and Alex had thrown together the afternoon she arrived, and sleeping in one of Jeremiah’s old shirts and an extra pair of PE shorts Alex no longer used.)

Alex figures it might be nice to have…an alternate _shirt_ at the very least, just until things have calmed down and they can focus on something as mundane as clothes shopping.

As it is, both her mom and dad are hard at work figuring out the false documents…situation? at the moment. Neither of them exactly in the right frame of mind for a Target run.

“Okay, we have Nirvana and Pink Floyd,” Alex says, tossing the threadbare shirts behind her. She doesn’t turn to see if Kara catches them. “Nine Inch Nails has a hole in the collar, and this…this one is actually fine. Why did I—oh, bleach stains. Right.”

She tosses a few more out, not necessarily as options for Kara, but just to get them out of the way. She’s almost through the box when she feels a hand on her shoulder.

“…Yeah?”

She turns to see Kara gripping one of the shirts in her hand—it looks like an old jersey. Alex thinks it might be from tee-ball. So. Pretty old.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Alex tells her, “but that shirt might be too small.”

Kara, of course, doesn’t understand her, and holds out the shirt, pointing at the faded number on the back.

“Uh, that? Ten?” Alex doesn’t get it. “It’s a sports thing. Well, it’s not—no. Not the number, that’s.” she huffs. “How do I explain this to yo—”

But Kara’s shaking her head. She’s not necessarily excited, but. Definitely worked up about something. She tries again, and Alex sees that she’s pointing to the _letters_. Not the numbers.

Across the shoulders. Alex’s name.

**D A N V E R S**

Ah.

“Oh, yeah,” Alex smiles back. “You recognize that, huh?”

She’s pleased, in the same way she’s pleased when one of the kids she tutors gets a good grade on a homework assignment, or finally understands a tricky concept.

Kara’s rubbing at her collarbone again, and has a sort of questioning stare fixed on Alex. She says something—Alex thinks she picks out one or two English words. _Name_ and… _house_ , maybe?

But that. That doesn’t seem right. What does 'house’ have to do with anything?

“Uh…yeah, sure,” Alex is certain that’s not the right answer to whatever it is Kara’s asking, but it’s late, and she’s not feeling up to alien charades. “Danvers. Good job.” She reaches for the shirt, but Kara seems hesitant to let it go. “It won’t fit, Kara. It’s from…years ago. When I was a little kid. Here,” she hands her the Nirvana shirt. “Take this one instead.”

She doesn’t know if her tone of voice is enough to drive home the meaning, but Kara reluctantly releases the old jersey. She accepts the dark grey t-shirt, and runs her hands over the screen-printed letters.

And Alex isn’t sure if Kara’s downcast expression is one of confusion, or disappointment.

* * *

Eliza gives Kara a box. A place to keep the clothes from Krypton. She can’t wear them, obviously, but it seems…cruel, to force her to get rid of them.

“You can put it under the bed, or whatever,” Alex says offhandedly, not looking up from her homework.

“Under…the bed,” Kara repeats, eyes settling on the furniture in question after a moment or two of translating. “The…bed?” She nods towards it.

Alex glances over. “Ten points for Gryffindor,” she says.

“What?” Kara asks. “Griff—”

“Nothing. You’ll get there. Dr. Seuss first,”  Alex waves it off, and closes her textbook. “Yeah, that’s the bed. Here,” she joins Kara on the other side of the room, dropping to her knees, moving aside the comforter so Kara gets a better idea as to what she means. Kara’s made some…truly incredible progress on the language front, but Alex has found it doesn’t hurt to be thorough, when it comes to communication.

Kara joins her, placing the box on the floor, but seemingly reluctant to relinquish the folded items of clothing.

Alex holds out her hands, and Kara slowly, _slowly,_ hands them over.

Alex refolds them—Kara’s wrinkled them a little, what with her death grip and all—and as she’s doing so, notices that the fabric on the shirt is slightly raised, right by the collar.

She stares at it a moment before she realizes that…it’s some sort of symbol, almost… _embossed_ on the fabric.

It would be hard to notice, if you weren’t looking for it. There are no seams, no color to mark where the symbol begins and ends. But now that Alex is holding the shirt right out in front of her…

It’s the ’S.’

Just like the one Superman wears, just like the letter at the end of…how did Kara say it?

_Zorel?_

No, a pause. Like two separate words. _Zor el._

Alex runs her fingers over the edge of the diamond-shaped border. She looks up, and Kara is regarding the shirt solemnly.

“What does it mean?” Alex asks.

Kara gets that pained look on her face again. Alex can see her throat move as she swallows, can only imagine the frustration of having something important (and it _must_ be important, it has to be) to convey, but not enough words to do so.

“It…” Kara starts, and Alex wills herself to be patient. It’s hard. “It is like…” she stands, goes to the desk, grabs one of the notebooks and a pencil.

When she comes back, she flips open to an blank page and draws…a t-shirt. She hastily adds 'DANVERS’ across the top.

“Like…that.”

“A…a team jersey?” Alex is very confused.

“It…no?” Kara presses a hand to her forehead. “It is. A name.” She looks at Alex. “My name.”

“Kara?”

Kara frowns in frustration. “No, no. That is…not right. My…my name, yes. But also my fa—dad’s,” she corrects, because she’s learned that humans are not quite so formal (usually) here on Earth, “name.”

“Oh,” Alex says, and then, “Oh! Like, like a last name!”

Kara puzzles over this for a moment. “A last name…is like a family name?”

“Yeah,” Alex tells her, and Kara nods, smiles, even.

“Yes,” she says. “It. Is my…last name.”

“Zor el?”

“Just 'El.'” Kara corrects her. “There is…more, but I…it’s,” she tries out a contraction, which Alex counts as progress, “difficult. To explain.”

Alex nods, but she’s still pretty curious about the shirt. And the symbol. And…a lot of other things, but she doesn’t want to overwhelm Kara. “So…did you… _always_ wear your family name, or whatever? Or is this like. The equivalent of a dog tag? 'If lost, return to…'” That’s probably insensitive, but Alex can think of no other way to put it.

Not that it matters, because Kara doesn’t appear to follow.

“Sorry. Could you please—?”

“Did you always wear this?” she holds up the shirt.

Kara almost looks offended, “I had other shirts,” she tells her in a flat tone.

And, it’s kind of funny, the way Kara says it, and that expression on her face. Alex chuckles, in spite of herself. “No, no,” Alex shakes her head. “Did you always wear your…name tag.”

“What does 'tag’ mean?”

And now Alex groans, because that’s…tangential, to her question. “Never mind the tag thing. Did you always wear your family name?”

It takes a moment, but when Kara finally susses out the question, she answers without hesitation. “Yes,” Kara tells her, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Always.”

“Really? Everyone? All the time?”

Again, there’s about a minute delay before the response, as Kara mentally translates. “All the time, yes. But not…everyone.” She picks at the cuff of her sleeve. “If you did not have a…house is not right. House here…it means 'dwelling,’ right?”

“Um. Yeah.”

“That is not…” Kara stares at the floor for a beat. “Can house mean…something like family?”

Alex thinks for a moment. “Well, yeah. Sort of like, household, maybe?”

And it’s not that Kara doesn’t appreciate Alex’s suggestion, but the word is just confusing her. She decides to abandon it altogether.

“If you did not have…family,” Kara goes back to familiar territory. She slowly explains, “You could not have a.” She closes her eyes, mutters the word under her breath. Alex doesn’t recognize it—it must be Kryptonese. “How do you say it. Cr—crest?”

“Crest?” Alex repeats.

Kara scratches her head. “Or. Shield?”

_Crest. Shield_.

“Oh, yeah, okay.” Alex nods. “Like a. Coat of arms, or something like that.” She blinks. “Huh. It really is like Gryffindor.”

“I still do not…Griff…indoor. What—”

“Later, later,” Alex insists once more. “So some people didn’t have…crests.”

“Yes.”

“If they were…orphans?”

Kara narrows her eyes.

“Orphan. What is…?”

“It’s—” _mercifully,_ Alex stops herself before she blurts, _someone like you._ “Um. If you don’t have…parents…” she can’t look Kara in the eye, “that’s, uh. Pretty much the definition.”

She hears Kara taken a slow breath in, and out. She still can’t look at her, choosing instead to take a sudden interest in her thumbnail.

“Not…orphans.” Kara finally says. Alex, at last, feels like she can look up, because Kara’s voice doesn’t waver, like she’s emotional, or upset. Alex hasn’t offended her. “People…expelled.”

Alex puts the clothes in the box, but doesn’t put the lid on just yet. She’ll let Kara do that.

“Oh.” She says quietly. “Kicked out, huh?”

Kara simply agrees, even though Alex is pretty sure she’s just confused the Kyrptonian further with her ‘informal colloquialisms.’ (Kara’s complaint–one of her more impressive ones.) 

Alex nudges the box over to Kara, but offers no instructions, or commands to stow it under the bed. She… _sort of_ understands _some_ of Kara’s weird behavior, as of late, thanks to this little heart-to-heart.

Or.

She knows enough now, to get why something as seemingly insignificant as a shirt could warrant a vigil.

_…A shirt…_

And then Alex remembers the baseball jersey—a shirt with their name on it.

Their family name.

And how she told Kara she couldn’t have it.

“ _Crap,_ ” Alex hisses, closing her eyes and running a hand through her hair. _“_ I didn't— _crap._ ”

Kara is startled by the outburst.

“What does cr—”

“We don’t do the shirt thing, here on Earth,” Alex quickly tells her. “This—this thing. Right here.” She jabs at the clothes in the box. “We don’t do that. It’s not like Krypton. That’s not a sign that you’re…in a family. Or out of one, or… _whatever,”_ she knows she’s talking too fast for Kara to follow, but she feels like she has to clear this up, to make this right. Not even a week into having a sibling, and she’s already screwing it up, somehow. “I’m sorry. If I confused you the other day,” she forces herself to speak slower, and to use smaller words. “Or made you feel…sad.”

She finishes the rushed explanation-slash-apology, and hopes that _some_ of it is getting through to Kara.

Kara doesn’t respond right away. She takes a long time, replaying Alex’s words in her mind, cataloging the sounds, the intonations, translating as much as she can, skipping the confusing parts.

Some of the details escape her, but what she gathers is: Alex is apologizing. Something about…Earth being different from Krypton, and making Kara feel sad.

And while, yes, Kara is _sad_  (perhaps to a greater degree than even Kara herself realizes) she doesn’t blame _Alex_  for this. She doesn’t blame anyone. Because the only people left to blame–where the fault _really_  lies–they’re dead and gone, and it feels… _wrong._  Wrong to blame the people of Krypton, given what…

Kara refuses to even think about that.

She brings her attention to _here_  and _now,_  because there’s so many _other_  things to think about. To learn. She can lose herself in this, and deal with everything else…later.

“Thank you,” she says, because that’s an acceptable phrase to use in response to an apology, here on Earth. “It is fine. No,” she decides, frowning, trying to remember the right— “It’s…cool?”

Alex is momentarily surprised to hear the word come out of Kara’s mouth, but a second later she’s laughing.

“Uh, sure. I guess so,” she says. It’s not how _she_ would have described the situation, but then. It’s not an incorrect use of the phrase. “We’ll work on the slang, okay?”

Kara smiles. She knows that word.

_'We.’_ A pronoun. Usually meant to convey: together.

**Author's Note:**

> \- According to Adventures of Supergirl, Kara learned English in a day. It did not specify which day, however.  
> \- For as much as Clark and Kara protest it, the shield is absolutely an ‘S’ if you’re looking at the modern comics Kryptonian font. For the purposes of this fic, though, I’ve humored them.  
> \- ‘No contractions on Krypton’ is from the Rebirth run.


End file.
